Doctor Who and the Loch Ness Monster Page 8

  Sarah and Harry spent a long time searching the castle, but they found nothing to give them a clue to Broton's destination. The castle was so huge that it would have taken an army to do a proper job, so they concentrated on the few rooms that showed signs of habitation, particularly the great hall where Broton appeared to have spent most of his time.

  Sarah went through a pile of papers on the desk, most of them to do with the management of the Duke's estate, though there were also some connected with an Energy Conference in London. 'Harry,' she said, 'when you were a prisoner didn't Broton tell you anything about his plans?'

  'He did a lot of boasting but nothing specific. I got the idea he's planning some great gesture of destruction, something to make the world sit up and notice him.'

  'Something bigger than smashing up oil-rigs?'

  'I suppose it must be.'

  'If only we knew what, there might be some chance of helping the Doctor.' Sarah stared round the room, biting her lower lip in concentration.

  Harry dusted what felt like the dust of centuries from his hands. 'Doesn't look as if we're going to find anything, old girl.'

  Sarah took a last look round the cluttered room. In the end it was something that wasn't even there, not something that was, that gave them their only clue.

  'Document case! ' said Sarah suddenly. 'You remember, Broton was very careful to take it when he went off.' In her mind's eye she could still see the expensive leather case clutched in the alien claw. 'Now why would he take the Duke's document case?'

  Harry shrugged. 'Maybe he fancied a souvenir! Come on, let's get back to H.Q. I'll ring Tulloch for some transport.'

  As Harry went to the telephone, Sarah stood lost in thought. She didn't realise it, but noticing the missing document case was the nearest she'd come yet to discovering the Zygons' plans.

  The Zygons' crippled ship flew just above the layer of low cloud. Broton knew they would have to land soon. For all his boastings, the patched-up, crippled ship couldn't last much longer. That was why he had reacted so violently to the Doctor's taunts.

  With a surge of relief he heard his engineer say, 'We have discovered a possible landing zone, Commander.'

  Immediately Broton said, 'Prepare for descent.' Whatever it was, it would have to do.

  The chief engineer ordered, 'Reduce dynacron thrust.'

  'Dynacron thrust at phase—'

  'Initiate descent trajectory,' hissed Broton.

  'Very good, Commander. We are descending—now ! '

  The Zygon ship dropped out of the clouds and landed in a deserted quarry. It hid beneath the over-hang of the carved-out cliff face like a crab under a rock. Broton surveyed the scene on his monitor screens. Not perfect, but it would have to do. He knew his crippled ship would never fly again. He had staked everything on this last desperate gamble for power.

  In his cell, the Doctor heard an amplified Zygon voice echoing through the ship. 'Prepare to receive a message from Commander Broton!'

  The Doctor made a loud and vulgar raspberry.

  Then came Broton's familiar tones. 'From this moment, all outward signals are forbidden. All available power is necessary to maintain the screening signal. Internal operations will be maintained on half-power.'

  'Paranoid half-wit!' snorted the Doctor. Then he looked up. The voices had come from a bell-shaped device on the wall. Like the Zygon ship itself, it appeared half-manufactured and half-grown. More to pass the time than for any definite reason, the Doctor started to dismantle it with his sonic screwdriver. He'd already tried the door, but it was too tough. Meanwhile, even this little bit of sabotage was better than nothing.

  The Brigadier stared at Benton in sheer disbelief. 'All of them?'

  'I'm afraid so, sir. There's a complete radar black-out all over the country.'

  'I see. Well, we'll just have to hope for visual contact when they come down—if they ever do. Carry on, Mr Benton.'

  Benton saluted and went to supervise UNIT's departure arrangements. In the doorway, he passed Harry and Sarah. The Brigadier looked up. 'Just in time you two. Find anything?'

  Sarah shook her head. 'No. Not a thing. Any news of the spacecraft?'

  'Last report had it travelling south over Leicester. Then we lost it. Those creatures have managed to cause a complete radar blackout. There's something else though—reports from shipping on the East Coast. We've had several accounts of a large underwater object travelling south at high speed.'

  Sarah's eyes widened. 'And we can all guess what that is—can't we?'

  Broton looked at the tiny dot moving slowly across the tracking screen. 'How far is the Skarasen from target now?'

  'One hundred and fifty-two earth miles, Commander. It is approaching the mouth of the estuary.'

  'That is close enough. Sever contact. The activator will bring it to the target from that range.'

  Obediently the Zygon pressed the control nodule, and the screen went dark. Broton stood brooding for a moment. Everything was going well. His plans were almost complete. Soon this entire planet would be his—yet something was missing. He needed to tell someone of his cleverness, to overawe someone with the might of Zygon technology. There was only one suitable candidate—the Doctor. Broton decided to make one last attempt to bring his prisoner to a properly respectful frame of mind.

  The Doctor was happily completing the dismantling of the loudspeaker when he heard Broton approaching his cell. Hastily he shoved the speaker back into position. He was seated cross-legged on the floor in a pose of complete relaxation when Broton entered. He noted the presence of two Zygon guards outside the cell, and reluctantly abandoned thoughts of escape, at least for the moment.

  He looked up at Broton and smiled politely. 'Is this a social call?'

  Broton hissed angrily. Once more the discussion was beginning wrongly. Something about this primitive being always seemed to shake his composure. 'Do you admire Zygon technology, human?' he demanded peevishly.

  The Doctor yawned. 'I'm not human, and as for technology—well, I've seen better.'

  Broton ignored the first part of this remark. Since these primitives had not yet achieved true space-flight, everyone on the planet must be human, except of course for the all-conquering Zygons. He concentrated on the Doctor's slur on Zygon achievements. 'Better than this—human?'

  The Doctor saw Broton's form shimmer and blur.

  Seconds later the Duke of Forgill stood before him, this time dressed not in shooting tweeds, but in immaculate morning dress.

  The Doctor clapped politely. 'Very impressive,' he said admiringly. 'Yes, very good indeed.'

  Broton looked at him suspiciously. At last the prisoner was expressing proper sentiments—though still with an air of mockery.

  'Tell me,' asked the Doctor casually, 'why do you keep the originals alive?'

  'It is necessary to re-register a body print at frequent intervals. Otherwise the original pattern dies.'

  'I hope you're not planning to duplicate me?'

  'There is no need for more concealment. You seem the most intelligent of the primitives on this planet. You can serve us, or die!'

  Ignoring this offer, the Doctor said, 'But you do still need a replica of the Duke?'

  'We have one further use for that shape—and one only.'

  'A formal occasion, I take it?'

  Broton smiled mockingly. 'Perhaps.'

  The Doctor saw Broton wasn't going to tell him anything specific. 'I gather we've landed. Where are we?'

  'You ask many questions.'

  'Well, it's the only way to learn anything,' said the Doctor reasonably. 'Here's another for you. When does the great operation begin—your conquest of this planet?'

  As the Doctor had guessed, Broton was unable to resist the opportunity for more boasting. 'Phase One is already complete.'

  'And what do you intend to do with the planet when you have it?' the Doctor enquired politely. 'I mean it's rather a big place for just you and your ship's crew.'

  'Ther
e are many other Zygon ships roaming the galaxy, since our planet was destroyed in a solar catastrophe. Once this planet is ours, I shall summon them here to their new home.'

  'Do you think they'll like it here? Earth is surely very different from your home world.'

  'That can be remedied. The other ships will arrive gradually over several centuries. We Zygons are a long-lived race. While we are waiting for them, I shall restructure this planet.'

  The Doctor gave a whistle of genuine admiration. 'I'll say this for you, Broton, you certainly think big. How do you propose to achieve that?'

  Broton made a lordly gesture. 'The polar ice caps must go, the mean. temperature will be raised several degrees, thousands of lakes constructed with the right mineral elements to breed more herds of Skarasen. I shall re-create my own world here on Earth.'

  'Using the human population as forced labour, I take it?'

  Broton nodded. 'Human labour and Zygon technology. The task is challenging, but not impossible.'

  The Doctor shook his head. 'You underestimate the human race, Broton. They'll never consent to be slaves of the Zygons.'

  'They will, Doctor—once I have demonstrated my power.'

  Still in the immaculate form of the Duke of Forgill, Broton turned and strode from the cell, closing the door behind him.

  The Doctor took the partially dismantled speaker from the wall and stared thoughtfully at it. The first glimmerings of a plan began to form in his mind. It was a good plan, with only one flaw. The slightest error in calculations would result in his death.

  11 Escape!

  In the usually busy Communications Room at UNIT's London H.Q., Sarah and Benton sat looking gloomily at a pile of silent equipment. The Doctor's tracing equipment had been brought down and installed, but it registered nothing. Benton unwrapped some chocolate and passed a piece to Sarah. They sat munching sadly.

  'Something's bound to happen soon, miss,' Benton tried to be consoling. 'I mean, if these creatures have got a plan, they'll have to make a move.'

  'It's the Doctor I'm worried about. For all we know he could be dead.'

  'Come on, now. Take more than that lot to kill the Doctor. He's probably planning his escape right now.'

  Sarah managed a smile. 'I know. It's just not hearing anything.'

  Benton hurriedly swallowed his last piece of chocolate as the Brigadier bustled into the room. 'Any news, sir?' he asked a little indistinctly.

  'Nothing on the space-ship. But the undersea object has been sighted again. The Navy's sending some frigates.'

  Everyone looked up eagerly as the telephone rang. Benton took the call. His eyes widened and he gave a silent whistle. 'Yes, he's here. I'll put you through now, sir.' Benton covered the mouthpiece and hissed. 'It's for you, sir. The P.M., from Stanbridge House.'

  The Brigadier raised his eyes in a silent prayer and took the receiver. 'Yes, sir... absolutely, sir, no public announcement. Discreet action... discreet but resolute action. Yes, sir, I'll keep you informed.' Very gently he replaced the receiver—Sarah guessed he was resisting the temptation to crash it down. She could imagine the sort of instructions he'd been given. He was to take firm action, without of course being rash. Whatever happened, it was the Brigadier's head on the block.

  'Politicians!' exploded the Brigadier. 'All very well for them.'

  Sarah gave him a sympathetic smile. 'What are you going to do, Brigadier?'

  'just what I always do, Miss Smith. I shall act as I think best.'

  The Doctor had succeeded in disentangling the twisted mass of roots and ganglia behind the Zygon loudspeaker. He regarded the maze of glowing and humming power lines. Organic crystallography wasn't really his forte, but he thought he'd worked it all out. The glowing crystal here was a part of the main power system. This smaller cable was connected to the ship's transmission equipment. Somehow the two had to be linked—and there was only one way.

  The Doctor braced himself, and ripped the vine-like cable free of the socket. He gripped the 'live' end firmly. By stretching his other arm he could—just reach the power-crystal. 'Now for the big question,' he said softly. 'Is half-power lethal?' There was only one way to find out. The Doctor lunged and grasped the power crystal with his free hand, bridging the two sections of the ship's power network with his body. Immediately an immense burst of dynacronic power flowed through the Doctor's body and into the transmission system. He twisted and writhed in agony. Sweat poured from him, but grimly he held on. A loud, burbling shriek filled the entire ship.

  As the Doctor had hoped, his action had two effects. It cut out the Zygon screening network, which had caused the radar blackout and was now concealing the position of the ship. More important, it betrayed that position with a powerful diastellic signal, as easy to pick up as a smoke signal in the empty desert. If only the Brigadier was using the tracing equipment properly, thought the Doctor. Then consciousness started to fade away... Despite his fierce determination, his fingers began slipping from the power-crystal.

  In the control-room Broton, now back in his Zygon form, turned to his chief engineer in consternation. 'A relay has jammed on the diastellic circuit!'

  The Zygon checked his controls. 'No, Commander. The circuit panel is in order.'

  'Trace the source immediately. We must stop the transmission.'

  The engineer bent over a screen which showed the ship's power network.

  'It is registering on the internal power feed. From the prison area.'

  'The Doctor!' said Broton grimly. They set off for the cell at a run.

  At UNIT H.Q., Benton leaned eagerly over his equipment. 'I'm getting something, sir—look!' On the Doctor's trace screen, the Zygon signal was registering like a fiery beacon.

  The Brigadier rubbed his hands. 'Now if the Tower squad are on their toes—we've got 'em.'

  A special UNIT squad had installed a set of the Doctor's tracing equipment on top of the Post Office Tower. Two traces were needed to give an accurate fix. The phone rang almost immediately. Benton grabbed it. 'Yes, we got it too, clear as day. Right, give me the bearing.'

  Benton jotted down some figures on the pad that already held his readings--and ran to the map table. He made quick calculations, then used a big plastic ruler to draw two lines across the map. Triumphantly he pointed to the spot where they intersected. 'Here, sir. Just beyond Brentford.' He looked closer at the big ordnance survey map. 'Seems to be some kind of quarry, sir. Anyway—we know where they are!'

  By the time Broton reached the cell, the signal had already died away. The Doctor lay motionless on the floor.

  The Zygon engineer examined him. 'He is dead.'

  'Naturally. The dynacronic power destroyed him. No human being could withstand it.' Broton regarded the Doctor with something close to admiration. 'I underestimated his intelligence. But he underestimated the power of organic crystallography.'

  'Do you think they will succeed in tracing us?'

  'It is unlikely. The signal was brief and their human equipment is primitive. Nevertheless, I shall bring the plan forward. Come!'

  The Zygons strode from the cell, giving no further thought to the body of the Doctor, not even bothering to close the cell door. Once they were gone, the Doctor opened his eyes. The trouble with Broton was that he simply didn't listen. After all, thought the Doctor, I did tell him I wasn't human.

  Weak and shaky after his ordeal, but still very much alive, the Doctor struggled to his feet.

  In the control-room Broton went over the final details of his plan. 'Distance?' he snapped.

  'The Skarasen is fifty earth miles from target, Commander.'

  'Excellent. It is time for me to place the activator. Humanity is at our feet!' Once more Broton began to shimmer and blur, as he changed his shape to that of the Duke of Forgill.

  After a bit of deep breathing and a few of his special setting-up exercises, the Doctor felt not quite as good as new, but almost. He crept cautiously from his cell and found himself in the area where the imprisoned
humans stood motionless in their cubicles. The Doctor studied the circuitry around them for a moment, then began operating controls.

  There was a low humming and after a moment the Duke of Forgill, the real Duke of Forgill, opened his eyes and asked the classic question, 'Where am I?'

  'In a space-ship,' the Doctor replied briskly. 'Please don't ask any more questions, your Grace, there's no time to explain.' Hastily the Doctor started reviving the other prisoners.

  Broton gave final instructions to his chief engineer. 'In two minutes shut down all diastellic transmission, and maintain monitor contact.'

  'Understood, Commander.'

  Broton paused, savouring the moment. Final victory was so near now. 'When Phase Two is completed,' he said grandly, 'I shall broadcast my demands to the world!'

  At a nod from Broton, the engineer touched the nodule that opened the special exit. A panel opened in the side of the Zygon ship, and Broton, Warlord of the Zygons, wearing for the last time the shape of the Duke of Forgill, stepped out to conquer the world.

  Inside the ship the Doctor, watched by a confused group of newly-released prisoners, was pointing his sonic screwdriver at a mushroom-like projection in the ceiling.

  'What are you up to now, man?' grumbled the Duke, inclined to be tetchy after his long imprisonment.

  ''This is a fire-sensor, your Grace—and if I apply sufficient concentrated heat...'

  A clangorous alarm rang through the ship. The Doctor grinned. 'All of you, back into your alcoves and sham dead. We'll see how good their fire drill is, eh?'

  Panic-stricken Zygons soon began to rush along the corridor, hunting for the source of the fire. All Zygon ships are highly inflammable, and the fear of fire built deep into the Zygon consciousness caused them to react with hysterical fear. As soon as the Zygons were past, the Doctor emerged from hiding, and led his little group to the now empty control-room. As the automatic door closed behind them, the Doctor tapped the Caber on the shoulder and pointed out a projecting root, rather like a gear-stick.